


Barefoot on the Grass

by Pervasive_Threnody



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alien Culture, Alien Planet, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-23 16:25:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15610278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pervasive_Threnody/pseuds/Pervasive_Threnody
Summary: "You know," Rodney said, poking at his tablet, bored, "just once I would like to find a planet of people who have rituals of trust that involve things likewritten languageandbinding agreementsandcontracts.""Planet of the Bureaucratic Bullshitters?  Don't even joke, McKay.  This galaxy will make it happen."Rodney shrugged, intent on his game of FreeCell.  "Want to make with the ritual thing, Sheppard?  Be my guest.  Knowing you, it'll be full of beautiful young women throwing themselves at your feet."





	1. Chapter 1

"Ours is a ritual of faith, of trust," the high priestess of Nemara announced.  "You must allow yourselves to be made vulnerable before you may enter our sacred space and receive the Great Blessing.  You must have faith that we will not harm you, and we must have faith that our trust in you is not misplaced."  
  
Rituals, always rituals.

"You know," Rodney said, poking at his tablet, bored, "just once I would like to find a planet of people who have rituals of trust that involve things like _written language_ and _binding agreements_ and _contracts_."

"Planet of the Bureaucratic Bullshitters?  Don't even joke, McKay.  This galaxy will make it happen."  
  
Rodney shrugged, intent on his game of FreeCell.  "Want to make with the ritual thing, Sheppard?  Be my guest.  Knowing you, it'll be full of beautiful young women throwing themselves at your feet."  
  
***  
  
"It's a ritual full of beautiful young women flinging themselves at Sheppard's feet, isn't it."  
   
Ronon grunted.  "Looks like it."  
  
"Not to worry.  I'm sure they'll fling themselves at _your_ feet next."  
  
"Can't wait."  
  
"All Temple supplicants must participate in the ceremony."  The high priestess gestured.  "We shall begin with your leader."  
  
A girl with creamy brown skin and very even, very white teeth took Sheppard by the hand and led him to an ornate backless bench.  She looked about sixteen, because of course she was, and she smiled at him adoringly, because of course she did.  
  
"What, exactly, does this ritual entail?" Teyla asked.  
  
"I'm so glad we're asking this _now_ , after it's _already started_ ," and that earned a tiny eyeroll from Teyla and a shove from Ronon that almost knocked him off his feet.  
  
"You must enter our Temple free of worldly armaments and defenses, bare of feet," said the high priestess.  "These are powerful representations of vulnerability and trust."  
  
"Yes, well, so is a _treaty_ ," Rodney muttered, recovering his dignity and scooting away from Ronon.  
  
"In time, perhaps," Teyla murmured.  She pressed a hand to Rodney's shoulder.  "Be patient."  
  
They all watched Sheppard unclip his P90 and shrug out of his tac vest.  Rodney bit back a comment, just _barely_ , about a striptease as the girl-waif knelt and began to fiddle with the ties of his boots.  Her hand brushed Sheppard's ankle-sheathed knife and she raised an eyebrow.  
  
Sheppard grinned sheepishly and bent to remove it.  
   
"Sorry.  Forgot."  
  
Now Sheppard's feet were bare, with a little help from him undoing the laces, and out of nowhere the waif was whipping out what looked like a strip of cloth--was that a blindfold?  Oh, yeah, it was a blindfold, and it was tied around Sheppard's eyes, and she was binding his hands behind him with a braided rope, almost before Rodney could blink.  
  
It took another blink to realize he'd already braced his P90 without having to think about it, and wasn't _that_ just a pleasant thing to know he was capable of now.  
  
"Excuse me and what the hell?"  
  
Ronon was already surging forward with a growl.  
  
"Ronon!" Sheppard barked, and of course he didn't need to _see_ to know his loyal attack hound was springing to his aid.  "Stand down."  
  
"You know," Rodney called out, as Ronon subsided and started to pace like a huge, pissed-off cat, "there's a thing where we come from called _full disclosure_.  We're not a terribly trustful people.  Is there anything _else_ you would like to tell us?"  
  
"Yes," the high priestess intoned, and suddenly Rodney thought the shape of her face and her clothes kind of made her look like the blue woo-woo priestess chick from that one sci-fi show.  When did his own life turn into a sci-fi tragicomedy?  "The feet of each supplicant must be cleansed by the hands of another.  One mustn't willfully besmirch the floor of the Temple of Trust with dust and grime from the World Outside."  
  
"Of course one _mustn't_."  
  
All the scorn Rodney could muster for this just wasn't enough, and he had a _lot_ of scorn.  He folded his arms and watched as a blindfolded Sheppard had his feet washed by the beautiful almost-woman and thought about the unfairness of it all.  
  
"You know you get a turn too," Ronon rumbled into his ear before pacing away again.  "Don't need to be jealous."  
  
"I am _not_ jealous."  
  
"Whatever."  
  
"I find it a bit odd, myself," Teyla remarked.  Being Teyla, and therefore hyperefficient, she had already unclipped her firearm and loosened the laces of her boots.  "But it is a common ritual that exists in many forms among the cultures of this galaxy, if for no other reason than to serve a practical purpose."  
  
"Yes, yes, mustn't besmirch the precious, sacred flooring.  Never mind how many bacteria reside on a square metre of any given surface."  
  
Now Sheppard was being helped to his feet.  His hands were freed.  Still blindfolded, he was led to the massive open doors of the temple.  They all watched him disappear inside, and the woo-woo high priestess beckoned to Teyla, who was attended to by a fiercely blushing almost-man; then to Ronon, whose helper monkey was a leggy, fair-haired not-quite-a-woman.  
  
Finally it was Rodney's turn.  
  
"I'll have you know I wash my feet thoroughly every morning," he felt compelled to say as he was assisted to the bench by his own helper monkey.  He removed his offending "armaments" and fiddled with laces of his shoes.  A blindfold was whisked around his hands and eyes and his boots were removed, and he sat and waited.  
  
And sat and waited.  
  
Nothing was happening.  
  
A pair of hands briefly touched his feet and lifted away.  
  
"I cannot attend to this man."  
  
The crowd began to murmur.  
  
"Cannot, or will not?" called the voice of the high priestess.  
  
"I will not."  
  
Rodney's heart sank.  
  
"State your justification."  
  
"I find his feet to be distasteful," the young woman's voice said with clear disdain.  "I find the remainder of his...outward appearance to be equally distasteful.  I find his attitude and his character to be blasphemous.  I declare him to be unworthy of our trust.  I declare him to be unworthy of the Blessing."  
  
The crowd gasped.  
  
"Will no one extend our sacred hospitality to this man, a stranger among us, our guest?" Rodney heard the high priestess say.  
  
There was a distressingly long silence.  
  
Rodney's heart sank further.  Nobody was going to help him.  No one on this bullshit woo-woo planet thought he was attractive, not even one person, not even a little.

Was he really _that_ horrible?  Among regular people, Earth people, he blended in with a crowd well enough, but here in this galaxy, where everyone seemed to be young and lithe and sun-browned, he was hopeless.  Pale skin, receding hair--and okay, a little extra padding at the waistline, but a lot less than he'd had a few years ago.  He knew he had nice eyes and a good set of shoulders, but did it even matter?  
  
It didn't matter.  
  
"He fails the test!" shouted a voice.  
  
"Unattractive!" cried another.  
  
"Unfit!"  
  
"Unworthy!"  
  
The crowd took up the chant.  Feet stamped and voices booed and clamored.  
  
" _I will have silence here!_ "  
  
The high priestess's voice shattered the chaos.  "If none will serve this man, I shall do it, but be warned:  There are serious consequences for violating our sacred tenets of hospitality in this manner!"  
  
More scuffling feet, more murmurs and gasps, and the crowd suddenly went quiet and began to converse in hushed, sibilant whispers.  
  
Rodney, seeing nothing, could only sit, completely at their mercy, and wait for it to be over so he could go find the nearest rock and never come out from under it.  
  
Footsteps approached him and stopped.  He imagined someone standing there, looking down at him with barely concealed disgust, bracing themselves for the unsavory task.  He hunched into himself.  
  
There was a sudden thudding sound and two new hands were on his feet, rubbing them briskly.  The palms were a little rough, adding some weird friction, but they were warm and the touch was kind and at least they'd found _somebody_ who would do it.  
  
Rodney tried to relax, keep calm, but it was hard, really hard while blindfolded, knowing a bunch of complete strangers who'd called him ugly were gawking at him and another complete stranger was about to wash his feet.  As if sensing this, the hands slowed to a more thoughtful, soothing motion, seemingly trying to get him to relax.  
  
Rodney unclenched a little under the kind treatment.  Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.  
  
The hands slid away, and soon the sound of wet wringing material and dripping water could be heard.  Then the hands were back, applying what felt like a sponge to his feet.  The water was cold and the sponge ticklish between his toes and he twitched and snorted, trying not to laugh.  
  
A stifled gruff noise, almost a chuckle, drifted to his ears, piqued his attention.  That sounded like--almost like--  
  
Then his mystery helper leaned in close, rested against his knees, rolling up Rodney's pant legs to wash his shins and ankles, and with a sharp indrawn breath Rodney _knew_.  
  
Knew the weight and the shape of that leaning body, the scent that belonged to it, and knew, just _knew_ he was being pitied and by whom; and his heart, already stuttering traitorously, skipped another beat and double-timed, this time with furious indignation.  
  
The sponge vanished, and there was a brief rubbing of his legs with a towel.  Someone untied his hands and he tried to surge upward and yank off the blindfold at the same time, so he could let these stupid bullshit people have it, tell them exactly what he thought of them and their stupid bullshit planet, exactly what he thought of--  
  
Warm hands caught and held his own, pulled him to his feet.  He stumbled forward, into a pair of waiting arms that wound around his body and lifted the blindfold away.  
  
He blinked upward, blinded from the sudden light, and when his vision cleared it was the sight of Sheppard, haloed by the setting sun, that filled his entire world.  
  
_John_ , gazing down at him, but not--not with pity.  Something else, maybe, something like--  
  
"Hey," John said, soft and shy, like no one ever got to hear him, cracking the goofy boyish smile that made it all the way to his eyes, and Rodney couldn't stop a shiver.  
  
"Um, hi," and _then_ it got awkward.  He'd thought his pulse was going crazy _before_.  
  
Rodney lowered his head.  His feet were pink, a little damp, spotless.  John had washed them with such care--he swallowed, shuffled a few steps back.  "Look.  You didn't have to.  You didn't.  I know you'd never think I'm--but, but thank you."  
  
Abruptly the familiar warm smell of John surrounded Rodney as John's strong arms closed around him again and held on tight.  
  
"Don't you _ever_ ," John hissed to his ear, rough, slow, broken, like it was _hurting_ him to say.  "Think about yourself like that.  What they think.  You don't even--you have no _idea_."  
  
Over John's shoulder Rodney could see Ronon and Teyla watching from the doorway, free of their blindfolds, leaning into each other.  Teyla's smile was radiant, Ronon's more subtle but it was there.  
  
"They don't know what they're missing," John whispered in his hair.  "Nobody--exactly like you are, you're _perfect_ , and they don't even _know_.  They don't deserve to know.  They don't _get_ to know."  
  
What?  
  
It couldn't be.  
  
John, who'd smiled at him maybe like--like maybe he thought Rodney was--  
  
Oh.  
  
_Oh_.  
  
"Oh," he breathed, stunned, pulled back just enough to gape, frantically searching John's face.  "You?  Me?"  
  
"Yeah," John said, shy again, ducking his head.  "Me.  You.  If.  I don't know if you would, if you've ever, but--"  His eyes locked on Rodney's, steady and fierce.  "Even if you don't, you have to know.  You have to know how much I--"  
  
John's voice went sharp and jagged and he looked away.  For once Rodney had no smartass comeback, could only stare at him thunderstruck.  Of _course_ he'd thought about it, _them_ , offhandedly, time to time, god, who _wouldn't_ \--but not once had he _ever_ thought that _John_ of all people would be someone who wanted Rodney _back_.  
  
But they were here, nose-to-nose, bare feet brushing together on the soft grass, and now it seemed nothing could be more natural for them, more inevitable.  
  
Rodney brought their foreheads together, let their lips meet and brush, the tiniest shivering contact--and oh, they were going to be so _good_ , he just _knew_.  
  
"You idiot," he whispered.  "Idiot," again, and he wasn't talking about John.  
  
"I know," John murmured.  "I know."  
  
They stood clinging together, noses touching.  John's hands slid down Rodney's neck, to his bare arms, slow, unhurried, like they were lingering over something precious--tangled briefly with his own and drifted away like they didn't want to let go--made him tremble the whole way and wish they never, ever would.  
  
Then he was Sheppard again, issuing orders in his command voice:    
  
"We're leaving.  Teyla, Ronon.  We'd like our gear and weapons now, please."  
  
"But, honored guests," cried the high priestess, "you forfeit the Great Blessing forever if you leave, and never will you encounter its like again!  You _must_ see the ritual to completion."  
  
John looked at the high priestess.  Looked like he was considering it.  Looked at Rodney.  
  
Rodney couldn't look away.  
  
John grinned.  
  
"No, thanks," he said.  "We're good."  
  
***  
  
_Baby, I'm dancing in the dark with you between my arms_  
_Barefoot on the grass, listening to our favorite song_  
_When you said you looked a mess, I whispered underneath my breath_  
_But you heard it, darling, you look perfect tonight_  
  
"Perfect," Ed Sheeran  
  
***


	2. Better Living Through Chemistry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets the last word.
> 
> Not long enough to be a second chapter. A coda, I guess. 
> 
> Inspired by commenters. Thanks!

"Hey.  What are you--"  
  
Right up there behind him in his business, so, of course, Rodney.  No one else invaded John's personal space like that, like it was just their _due_ , like they _belonged_ , and _got away with it_.  
  
Really should have known a hell of a lot sooner what that said about him, them, what it _meant_.  
  
John slowed down, finger-punched a few more keys just to hear Rodney's annoyed grumbling whuff, thoroughly enjoying the moment.  
  
"Just a _routine_ , _late-night_ _housekeeping procedure_.  You know."  
  
Rodney leaned in some more, a solid mass of living breathing McKay, just close enough for John to feel, hot and real and all _right there_.  
  
"P3X-993?" he said next to John's ear.  
  
John, on a mission, didn't let himself react.  "P3X-993."  
  
"Can--I want."  
  
He hesitated, wanting to be the one to lift his finger, slow and deliberate, punch those backwater, shallow, superficial fuckers out of the database with malice aforethought, with goddamn _relish_ , _wanted_.  
  
But Rodney made a soft whining noise and made John remember the crumpled shape of his expressive mouth, his tiny forlorn hunch when he thought no one could be found to want _him_.  
  
John let go of his clenched fist.  
  
"As you wish."  
  
Rodney got his wish, like he always did, always would, and John watched the Nemarans vanish from figurative existence and wished it was literal, wished to hell he could pull the trigger that would blot them from history, he would, he fucking _would_ and wouldn't feel anything but _glad_ \--  
  
Then Rodney turned to John and looked him over nice and slow, tilted his chin and gave John a smile that was part malicious glee of Rodney's own, part fierce bravado, a hell of a lot of smug, and _all_ Rodney, and before John could say or do a thing walked straight into John's arms and went right for the kill, offered a scorching kiss that was absolutely unequivocally certain of its welcome, and John took it, _yes yes, god yes_ , and gave it right back.  
  
Living well really _was_ the best revenge.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because John would. He _would_. And I _love_ him for it.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, this story went through like four rewrites and I just couldn't get it to _happen_ , until I came back to it months later, and in the middle of rewriting it _again_ I finally realized what it needed, and something just clicked.
> 
> It's still not exactly what I wanted--it's missing a certain dramatic tension _thing_ I can't quite put my finger on--but does anything ever turn out quite the way we want it to? It's a lesson that goes with the story for me, loving the perfect imperfection, just letting go and putting it out there and finding exactly what you needed anyway.
> 
> The story title was an amazing little bit of synchronicity. I was working through the eleventy- _zillionth_ edit and trying to decide if canon John really would tell Rodney he was beautiful. While do I happen to think he would under the right circumstances, that he's secretly a romantic dork, something made me change it to "perfect" instead (maybe it's a little more "manly," ahaha). I went looking for synonyms, and oh, hey, look what was there in the search results. I'm not even an Ed Sheeran fan, had no more than the vaguest idea that this song existed, much less the words of it, but there it was, with a title and lyrics that were almost, well, perfect.  <3
> 
> Thanks for reading.


End file.
